A Miko's Routine

The path to the shrine wound through tall cedar and seemingly endless stone stairs that had long seen better days. Sunlight filtered through the branches and cast scattered shadows across the sacred grounds, as the mountain breeze made the Shinto bells echo. For Miko, this was the only home she’d ever known, the only life she’d ever lived; sixteen years of it. 

She’d long perfected her routine. At daybreak, she’d come out to sweep the courtyard and the shrine path of fallen leaves. She didn’t expect many visitors—or really, any. She could barely recall the last time villagers had brought up offerings. They’d long stopped after her mother’s sickness and silly superstitions. But it made no difference; these were her duties as the shrine maiden. 

She lit fresh incense before the altar and offered a small prayer. By noon, she had already gathered water from the spring, herbs from the forest, and firewood for the stock. 

At dusk, she practiced her Kagura, careful with every step, even if no one was watching, before finally making her way to the shed with a tray of food. It was tucked away in a corner of the shrine grounds, off to the side of the main residence. Her mother had surely slept all day as usual and would only take her meals at day’s end. 

Another day came and went, and Miko began anew. Same day, same routine—but something hasn’t felt right at the shrine lately. She stood along with the stillness; eyes focused on nothing in particular. 

She gently smacked her cheeks three times. “All right!” She cracked a smile. Her eyes filled with determination. 

It was second nature. She swept the shrine grounds and did her cleaning, lit new incense for the altar, gathered fresh water from the spring, herbs, and firewood for the stock, just as her late grandpa had long shown her. 

Her mind drifted during Kagura practice, but the motions were mostly muscle memory now. Would Mother allow her to clean her quarters? A silly thought. Opening the room would risk contamination. It was a mysterious illness indeed… Still, she couldn’t help but wonder what the inside of that old wooden shed must be like for her mother. 

For a split second, her muscle memory wasn’t enough, and her graceful movements faltered slightly. She tensed. Her eyes dilated and darted about until she took a breath and calmed her fluttering chest. 

“That’s enough practice for today. Mother must be famished.” Miko stared at the sun ducking beneath the tall cedars, casting long shadows on the courtyard. 

She stepped onto the narrow path that led to the shed, tray of food in hand. Each step Miko took was soft and deliberate, but heavy like the air around her. She paused as she approached. 

A statue stood at the end of the path, right in front of the shed to the side. It’d always been there, as far as her blurry memories recalled—the stony cat. It was no more than four feet, but it stood tall, as if watching her, judging, each time she arrived. A talisman sat affixed on its forehead, with lettering and symbols she’d mostly forgotten the meaning of, but one thing she could never forget were her grandfather’s words for it: “Keep the talisman on its forehead.” 

The stony cat statue was meant to serve as a guardian deity, and the talisman helped protect from “letting the impurities cross,” as Miko recalled more of her grandfather’s words. So it made sense that the old shed had been repurposed for her mother’s use, though she’d never been fond of it. 

Miko sat at the entrance, setting the tray with food aside. As she reached for the latch to the shoji door, she hesitated. 

She thought she heard heavy breathing—slow, steady, matching her own. She held her breath. The sound stopped. She kept it held for as long as she could… like that one time at the spring when she went to fetch water as a child. 

Her mother was there then too. Just thinking about it made her skin bumpy and hair stand on edge. 

The water was cold. Freezing. She wondered how long she’d last. But at last, she surfaced. And at last, she released her held breath. But slowly this time. She fought the urge to gasp, as if she was still back then as a little girl, breaking the surface of the water. 

Miko slid the door just a crack. Enough for the food tray to fit. She’d long learned her lesson. 

“Sorry for the delay, mother.” She picked up the previous day’s food tray at the edge of the doorway. The food was mostly gone, a good sign that Mother’s appetite was still well. She slid in the new tray of food. “Enjoy your meal.” 

Only darkness was visible through the slight opening of her mother’s quarters. She’d become quite sensitive to light. But the smell was something Miko still struggled to get used to. It was a strange mix. A subtle odor of decay, but also of something earthy with a hint of iron. It emanated from deep within, along with the incense that tried its best to mask it, to no avail. Mother’s medicine did tend to have a strong odor… The occasional whisper also came from within. Her mother’s voice. Barely audible. 

Each visit, Miko recounted her mundane days to her mother. The cleaning she did, the prayers she performed, the herbs and wood she gathered, though this time she’d left out her Kagura practice. Would she notice? 

Her mother never did say much, as expected. But whenever she did project her voice, it’d catch Miko off guard. She’d almost forgotten what her mother’s voice sounded like beyond whispers. She wouldn’t even dare to imagine what she must now physically look like. 

“You’ve grown… Strange,” the mother said. 

Miko stifled a chuckle. Strange? She thought the same of her. It wasn’t so much the words, but the way her mother said them. Like she was testing the sound of her own voice. But all things considered, maybe that was normal for the mother, considering the illness. 

On the other hand, her mother had always seen Miko as strange. Miko thought back to when she was a little girl learning her shrine maiden duties. Her mother’s words still rang true, “You're a strange child. How could you not understand such simple tasks?” She’d always struggle with remembering the proper chants and prayers. 

The smell from within the darkened slit crept into her nose and jolted her back to her senses. It must’ve been filthy; mother probably couldn’t keep up with it. 

Miko spoke almost from reflex. “Mother, would you like me to come in and clea—” She cut herself off. The realization of her words instantly dawned at her. She should’ve known better. 

Silence befell, far more than usual. Not even a rustle of leaves from the breeze or distant echoes of the bells. It was almost palpable. Miko didn’t dare face the cracked opening. She could feel the heavy glare radiating from within. It was sharp, burning at her side. 

Miko bowed calmly and controlled, though internally, her heart drummed. “Apologies, Mother. That was careless of me. I know how delicate your illness is…” 

Her mother replied with silence, but Miko knew what it meant. She slowly slid closed the shoji door as she said their good nights. 

The stony cat stood tall from the side, as if watching, as if judging. She whispered it a good night as well in passing.